


The Rumors Are Terrible and Cruel

by nontoxic



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Curses, M/M, Magical Realism, Penelope AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:27:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27155215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nontoxic/pseuds/nontoxic
Summary: "We could go for a beer?""Maybe later," David responds. He can't do this. He can't."David, please, you..." Patrick steps forward and presses his knuckles gently to the two-way mirror David hides behind. He doesn't knock, he just... holds them there. Waiting. Waiting for him. "You gotta come out sometime. There's a whole world out there that would be so much better with you in it."---David Rose, born with the face of a pig, has been a prisoner in his home for his entire life. Believing that the only way to break the curse is to marry a member of his own class, his sister sets him up with every eligible bachelor(ette) on the continent.But when Patrick Brewer shows up, hoping to sneak a photograph of him, things get a bit complicated.Because Patrick isn't a blue blood. He doesn't have the power to break the curse. No matter how badly he wishes he did.(aka the penelope au)
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose, Stevie Budd & David Rose, Stevie Budd/Twyla Sands
Comments: 151
Kudos: 163
Collections: Schitt's Creek Trick Or Treat





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [SCTrickOrTreat](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SCTrickOrTreat) collection. 



> **Prompt:**  
>    
> Penelope AU
> 
> Due to an angry witch cursing his family generations before, David Rose was born with the face of a pig. Only by finding love with a member of his own aristocratic class can David finally break the curse. His loving but overprotective family is obsessed with finding him a match, but after a lifetime of rejection, David's losing hope. 
> 
> Patrick Brewer is a down on his luck musician. When Patrick is hired to get the scoop on the mysterious David Rose, he's only in it for the money. Until he gets to know David and realizes that he might be falling for him. The problem? Patrick's not an aristocrat: he doesn't have the power to break the curse. 
> 
> When David runs away from home & yet another heartbreak, he discovers there's a whole wonderful world out there, and maybe he doesn't need someone to break the curse for him after all.
> 
> Doesn't have to be an exact adaptation - feel free to change whatever elements you want! As long as there's a happy ending.
> 
> \---
> 
> I was so excited to see this prompt, since Penelope is one of my favorite films of all time. Hope the prompter is okay with me changing a few details.

🐽🐽🐽

The Rose family has a long legacy of being as close to modern-day royalty as possible.

Or, they did. Once upon a time.

See, several generations ago, David Rose was... well, the opposite of princely.

He was a cad, always flirting with the staff at Rose Manor, despite being betrothed to a kind and beautiful young woman named Katherine.

He went to great lengths to hide his philandering from his future wife, but the moment they said "I do," he dropped all pretense and brought anyone he fancied into their bed.

A member of the kitchen staff, a sprightly girl named Elizabeth, kept his attention the longest.

She was too young to recognize his lies, too easily swayed by his vow to leave his wife for her, his promises to give her security and fortune. She was too new to the staff to know that she was hardly the first — hardly the _tenth_ — girl to whom he had performed this farce.

So she went to his room when summoned and, at his request, she didn't tell a soul.

Until the day her lover, bored of her company, cast her out of the Rose estate.

Upon her return to her home, she discovered that her parents wouldn't take her back, not with such a sullied reputation. And so Elizabeth sat on the short stone wall along the outskirts of her village and wept, until a kind woman placed a hand on her shoulder and offered her a lifeline.

The woman lived in the woods, you see, and needed help gathering materials for potions and tinctures to sell to villagers.

It was an easy choice, and Elizabeth soon found herself with a home once again.

But the friendship of the kind woman was not enough to cure Elizabeth of her depression, and one day, she set out to gather supplies and never returned, leaving behind a note, explaining to the woman that her heartbreak had not healed and she could no longer go on.

The woman mourned for her friend, and set a curse upon the Rose family, that every first-born male heir would be born with the face of a pig, unless one of their own kind — the same shallow, class-obsessed aristocrats who cast out her friend — could learn to love them exactly as they are.

And so for generations, the first-born Rose men lived unloved and monstrous, relying on their younger siblings, the second-, third-, and fourth-borns, to carry on the Rose family legacy, their name fading into relative obscurity, saved only by their money.

Then one day, Jonathan Rose met a lively young woman named Moira, and they fell madly in love.

And yet, when Moira said, "I do," Jonathan's face did not change. Because you see, Jonathan did not have the face of a pig. He was the second-born Rose, and when his older brother, David Rose Ⅵ, died at 21, Jonathan was named the heir to the family fortune.

And they hoped this was the loophole — Jonathan was now the male heir, and Moira loved him with every fiber of her being. Surely, this would be enough.

Except that Moira was not a blue blood. She was born of the working class.

And so, one sunny July day in 1985, Moira gave birth to their first child. A baby boy named David Rose Ⅶ.

Who, like the five David Roses who came before him, was born with the face of a pig.

🐽🐽🐽

"David, this existence is... _tragic_ ," Sebastien told him, once, years ago, from the other side of the two-way mirror David lived behind. "You have to find it within yourself to step out of this cage and embrace _life_."

And David, in his naïveté, thought Sebastien loved him. And he thought he loved Sebastien.

So he had.

And when he stepped out of that room, and Sebastien had remarked on how his face was a metaphor for finding the melancholy beauty in hideous things, David thought he was deep and philosophical. And when Sebastien pushed him down onto the bed and spread himself along David's back as he drove into him, he showed David for the first time what he was worth.

Sebastien never came back.

But others had — they showed up, they took their pleasure from him, and they took and they took, until there wasn't much left.

But still, there was a tiny ember of hope, buried deep in the charred remains of his heart.

An ember of hope that one day, someone, _anyone_ , could love him and save him from this life.

And he holds onto that ember for dear life. Because without it, he thinks he may not survive.

🐽🐽🐽

"What happened to Mychelle, David?" Alexis asked when he walked into her office one early August morning. "She seemed promising."

He waves her off as he drops into the chair across from her. "It's over."

"Ugh, David! You make it so _hard_ to try to find someone who can—"

"What? Stand the sight of me?"

Alexis' gaze goes soft. "I'm just saying," she says, gently, as she taps one perfectly-manicured nail on her desk, "you might have better luck if you... if you just _wait_ a minute, you know?"

"Yeah, hard pass on that. I'm not going to _hide_ my face," he responds, gesturing wildly, his voice firm and angry, to keep the hurt and betrayal at bay.

She pats his arm gently. "Will you just... try it my way? There are some options waiting in the library."

"Options? Plural?"

"Yes, David, we thought we would gather a few eligible singles, have a little mixer, you could get to know them, choose who you want to spend more time with... it'll be like _The Bachelor!_ "

"Yeah, except I'm not an aggressively heterosexual, blandly attractive, ultra-eligible bachelor, I'm a _goddamn pig_ , Alexis."

She pats his arm again. "Yes, David, I've seen the way you eat pizza—"

"Ugh!"

"—But you may want to just give this a try, okay? It's a good group."

"...Fine."

He climbs up the stairs, into the back room hidden behind the library, and right up to the two-way mirror his parents had installed along the back wall to see the group Alexis put together for him. And he watches. Men, women, people all across the gender spectrum, chatting with each other, likely comparing notes on how massively impressive their family legacies must be, as if they've done anything to earn their place in the world.

It's... honestly, he's met so fucking _many_ of these people at this point, and he's _tired_.

So he stomps right over to the door and flings it open with a saccharine, "Oh, _hi_ , you all must be here for the Pig-Faced Man, yes?"

They startle at his voice and they run when they see his face (as David mutters, "What a shame, because I put out," under his breath), and a moment later, the room is empty and he stalks back to the room behind the mirror.

He takes a deep, steadying breath. This shouldn't bother him as much as it does. Those people are shallow and obsessed with status and fame and money.

David scoffs at himself. As if he isn't. As if he doesn't have a room full of designer clothing no one outside of this house will ever see. As if he doesn't also cloak himself in money and status to hide the monster he really is.

Except that the monster he is is on full display, and those people hide their monstrous tendencies behind great skin and excellent bone structure. Or at least, excellent facial sculpting from the world's most renowned and expensive surgeons.

(Surgeons who, David recalls bitterly, were unable to fix his nose, as his carotid artery somehow runs straight through it. And not for the first time in even just the last hour, he curses the witch who cursed his family.)

He pulls his lips between his teeth, closes his eyes, and breathes deeply through his nose to keep the embarrassing tears from falling. He couldn't deal if Alexis knew how upset his own little stunt made him.

He just... he _hopes_. Even still. Just... he only needs _one_ good person.

But there are no good people, he's realizing.

"See, Alexis," He shouts into the void, knowing she's watching, as he shakes his hands out at his sides. "It's not going to work!"

"Alexis isn't here."

David spins around to peer out of the two-way mirror and sees a handsome man, around his age, with auburn hair and brown eyes. Forgettable, if not for the sparkle of something truly _alive_ in his gaze and the upturned corners of his bright smile and the fact that he'd _stayed_.

"What?" David asks, trying to get his feet back under him after the shock of seeing this man standing casually in his library.

"You said something to Alexis. But... It's just me here," he says to the room, gesturing self-deprecatingly at his general person. As if David hasn't already clocked his strong thighs and broad chest.

"Did you see?" David asks, feeling that flicker of hope that this man saw him and _stayed_.

"See what?"

"You know what."

"Do I?"

David narrows his eyes at him. "What do you _want_?"

"What?"

"Why are you here? Do you want the money? Do you want a glimpse at the pig-faced monster? Or do you just want me to suck your dick?"

" _Oh my god, ew, David!"_ comes Alexis' voice through the speakers.

The man laughs. He's actually kind of beautiful. It makes something at the back of David's skull prickle, but he refuses to acknowledge it.

David waits.

"I don't want anything, David. Just... here to get to know you better."

He looks kind. Earnest. It's a deadly combination to someone like David.

Still, he waits.

"Are you still there?" the man asks to the room. David waits. The man cautiously steps forward and taps gently on the mirror. "David?"

He looks at the man. Up close, he can see his freckles, the light, reddish stubble on his chin, the sparse eyebrows he couldn't see when the man was across the room.

The man looks right back at him, right _through_ him, to David's very soul.

He covers his nose instinctively, though he knows the man can't see him.

"David?" The man whispers. It sends a spark down David's spine that he's never felt before.

The man waits a moment, before he turns to leave.

"Will you be back tomorrow?" David asks, right before he steps out the door.

"I _knew_ you were still there," the man says with a grin that David fears he will dream about that night.

David grins back, safely hidden from being seen smiling like this. "Will you?"

The man laughs and looks at the floor, nodding. David feels his heart swell. "Yeah, David, I'll be back tomorrow." He turns to leave, before stopping himself. "I'm Patrick, by the way."

"I'll see you tomorrow, Patrick."

"I'll talk to you tomorrow, David."

A moment later, Patrick is gone.

David's grin gives way to a breath of laughter, and for the first time, he's thankful he's alone in the room behind the mirror.


	2. Chapter 2

🐽🐽🐽

Patrick hates this place.

The Wilhern, the city's dive-slash-cabaret-bar, was the first place willing to hire him after he blew up his life and moved out of the apartment he shared with Rachel. And they pay him fairly for the little amount of business management he actually does (which is to say, he makes very little). And they had an apartment upstairs for him, which was convenient. And he doesn't have to tend bar too many nights, and there is a gorgeous baby grand on stage that he will maybe one day actually want to play.

But he still hates this place.

It's always crawling with pretentious assholes who make snide comments about how _pedestrian_ it is.

He hates it even more when one of their regulars who _would_ be hot, if it weren't for his whole personality, comes up to Patrick while he's helping out behind the bar and tells him he'd _love_ to Polaroid him naked.

Patrick rolls his eyes.

"So does this place fulfill you, Patrick? Artistically?" The man asks, as he leans forward on his elbows, leering lecherously at him.

He rolls his eyes again. If he keeps talking to this guy, he's gonna get a migraine. "No, Sebastien, but it does pay the rent."

Sebastien nods. "I could offer you more."

"I'm not going to model for you."

"No, no, it's _so_ much more than that," Sebastien says, before telling him about the saddest creature he's ever known, a man born with the face of a monster and the ass of an angel, who "is only worth the pleasure you'll find inside him."

Patrick wants to punch him.

"I'll give you ten grand if you can get me a photo of him."

Patrick _really_ wants to punch him. He clenches his fist, and pictures it colliding with his jaw. But even more, he wants ten grand. It would get him out of this city, away from memories of Rachel. It would be enough for a fresh start, somewhere far away.

So he unclenches his fist and asks, "Ten grand for a photo?"

"It would be the capstone piece to my show," he drawls, letting his jaw hang open unattractively.

"And you can't get the photo yourself?"

That's when Sebastien explains it. He explains how David Rose, the monster with the face of a grotesque hog, seduced him with his body before revealing his true nature. How he used some sort of magic to lure Sebastien to his bed and took his pleasure from him. He tells him about the curse and how the only way to break it is for David to marry a member of his own aristocratic class. He tells Patrick about how desperate David and his family are to find a blue blood who can stand up with him to say "I do."

All Patrick has to do is pretend to be a member of white collar society and infiltrate Alexis Rose's scheme to trick someone into marrying her brother.

He agrees to Sebastien's terms.

And the very next afternoon, Patrick arrives at Rose Manor a bit hungover, Sebastien's lapel camera pinned inconspicuously on his blue sport coat.

He's rubbing a hand over his face, convincing himself that this is worth it, when he runs head-on into a person.

"Shit, sorry, sorry!"

He glances up and sees a beautiful, statuesque blonde woman smiling beatifically at him. "Hi! I'm Alexis," she says, flipping her hair over one shoulder and pointing to her necklace, a large, golden "A" nestled in the hollow of her throat. "You must be here for the matchmaking event."

Matchmaking? That's... certainly a word for it. "Yeah, I'm Patrick, the agency sent me."

She knits her eyebrows together and glances at her clipboard. "Patrick? I wasn't expecting a—"

"Yeah, they called me this morning. Patrick Brewer," he says, extending a hand. "Of the... Milwaukee Brewers." _The Milwaukee Brewers? You idiot._

Alexis narrows her eyes. "Mm, yes, of course, the Milwaukee Brewers. Big in the, um..."

"Tea trade." _What?!_

"Right, of course, of course! Just line up right here and we will send you all up shortly."

He glances at the line wrapped around the banister. "Wait, all of us?"

But Alexis is already gone.

He tunes out the conversations around him, focused instead on the plan. Get David to show his face, lift his arm to trigger the shutter, and get out. He can do this. He _needs_ to do this. He needs to get the fuck out of this city.

By the time he's in the room, he's oddly nervous. _Suck it up, Brewer,_ he thinks. _This is for ten grand. You can start over._ He steps over to the bookcase and spots a well-loved hardcover, its spine cracked and its pages damaged on one corner by what looks to be a tragic coffee-related incident. The thought of anyone loving a book so much makes him smile. Without thinking, he reaches for it, just wanting to see the title, and—

_Snap snap snap snap—_

_Shit!_

He quickly ducks behind the bookcase to turn off the camera, crouching on the floor to remain hidden.

_Snap snap snap snap snap snap snap snap—_

He finally pulls the small battery out and shoves the whole thing in his pocket.

When he stands and looks around, the room is empty.

"See, Alexis, it's not going to work," he hears a soft, exasperated but slightly pained voice say.

"Alexis isn't here," he says, dumbly, to... no one?

"What?" the voice responds, surprised.

"You said something to Alexis. But... It's just me here," he jokes, nervously sweeping a hand over himself as if apologizing.

And maybe he is. He saw the beautiful people that were in line with him. He knows he falls somewhere in the bottom of that list.

"Did you see?" the voice asks, carefully.

"See what?"

"You know what."

He doesn't, but he's enjoying messing with him a little bit. "Do I?"

It's silent for a moment, before the voice is back, gentler this time. Almost timid. "What do you want?"

For some reason, Patrick smiles. The voice is soft. Gentle. He likes how it sounds.

Still. He enjoys the banter. He thinks David is fun to talk to. And he's maybe looking forward to tomorrow.

🐽🐽🐽

David watches Patrick pick up a book from the shelf before settling into the sofa to leaf through it. He watches as Patrick's eyes roam the page and it feels intimate, watching his eyes sweep over the same words David's have, over and over and over. It feels... shared.

"This one's your favorite?" Patrick asks, breaking the silence.

David is dumbfounded.

"Come on, David, I know you're there." He holds up the book and smiles at the mirror. David feels his heart skip a beat. He has a nice smile. "It is, isn't it?"

"Yes," he responds. "How'd you know?"

He watches, rapt, as Patrick runs one finger reverently along the spine and _good god_ , how is that so hot?

Patrick shrugs. "It's well-loved. Clearly, someone comes back to his one a lot."

David nods before he remembers Patrick can't see him. It's easy to forget they aren't in the same room. "My, um. My nanny gave it to me."

Patrick's eyes snap to his and he feels that same urge to cover his nose again. "Well, it, um. It seems nice, from the few paragraphs I read."

He swallows. "You could borrow it," he says, trying for casual. He thinks it might come out choked.

Patrick shakes his head. "Nah, I couldn't... I couldn't do that. You should have it here, if you need it." Like he knows David _needs_ it. "But I can bring you a copy of _my_ favorite tomorrow?"

"I'd like that."

🐽🐽🐽

Patrick shows up the next day and sets a copy of _Fast Forward to Success_ by one Johnny Rose on the coffee table and David realizes he's funny and he kind of likes him.

He doesn't think he's ever _liked_... anyone. He's wanted people and he's longed for them to want him back, but he's never just _liked_ someone for who they are. He almost wants to tell him.

"Get out," is what he says instead.

But Patrick just laughs, his grin lighting up the room.

🐽🐽🐽

They play chess the next day, Patrick right up against the mirror and moving David's pieces for him when prompted. David thinks he's fun and steadfastly refuses to think of anything else. Certainly not about how much he's enjoying the company.


	3. Chapter 3

🐽🐽🐽

"David, son! How are you? Anything... new and exciting in your life?" his father asks when he sits down at the dinner table a week later, once Patrick has left for the evening.

"Yes. I've started going for long runs around the neighborhood every day, waving at all our neighbors, learning the newspaper delivery route..."

His mother sighs. "David, your penchant for sarcasm is a most unwelcome dinner guest."

He rolls his eyes. "Well. It was a dumb question."

"I was referring to that young man who has come back to see you the last three days."

David winces. "He hasn't, though."

"What do you mean? Alexis said he—"

"He hasn't seen me, Dad."

The table is quiet for a moment before his mom quips, "And what a blessing that is! You cannot reveal yourself to such a pulchritudinous young man like sweet Pat, not so soon!"

He swallows around the lump in his throat. "Yes. I wouldn't want to scare him off."

His mother reaches across for his hand. "It wouldn't be you scaring him dear, it's not—"

"I know," David says with a sigh, before repeating the mantra his mother has drilled into him since before he could speak, "It's not _my_ nose, it's my philandering great-great-great-great grandfather's nose, and I'm not him and he's not me and I'm not me."

"Correct, dear." She lets go of his hand and lifts her teacup to her red lips.

David pulls his lips between his teeth just to keep his jaw from trembling, his appetite disappearing.

🐽🐽🐽

Patrick has a slight spring in his step when he walks into Rose Manor. It’s been a few weeks, but he’s not complaining.

He likes these afternoons with David. David is sharp and funny and his voice is melodic and he has a ten thousand dollar payday waiting for him for the pleasure of his company.

He doesn't let himself think about the inevitable betrayal he will have to commit in order to get that money.

He tries to think about what Sebastien told him about David, that he's a horrifying monster who lures people to his bed with trickery and false promises of pleasure and riches.

He just... can't quite reconcile that with the last few days.

Still, he walks in and greets Alexis with a smile before heading upstairs to the library.

He's done this dance a few times, waiting for David to arrive behind the mirror — or for him to speak up, Patrick doesn't know if David watches him for a bit or arrives after some time, but he knows that there's always some silence before they settle in for their banter.

He starts on the display cabinet to the left of the door today, forgoing the books. He spots a few small sculptures before — is that a...

Patrick picks up the seemingly innocuous frog, noticing the holes on its back and the rounded "o" if its mouth and laughs. Why the hell David has this small, frog-shaped flute is beyond him, but he still lifts it to his mouth and blows, the whistling sharp in the silent room. It makes him laugh, the nervous energy going _somewhere_ , before he lifts it to his lips again and repeats the action, this time covering one of the holes and producing an even sharper note.

"Do you play?" David's voice comes through the speakers, loudly.

"Jesu... The frog?" he asks, jokingly, taking a moment to regain his bearings. "No. No, I always meant to pick it up, though."

"But you _do_ play something." David responds, his voice gentle but probing.

He just shrugs. "What makes you so sure?"

"Your voice."

"My voice?"

"It's... nice." Patrick can _feel_ the flush on his cheeks. "You speak with intent. You have something to express, something to say."

"Um."

"See, just like that," David teases. "Plus the calluses on your fingers gave it away." Patrick glances down at his hands and laughs. "Guitar?"

"Among other things."

"Oh? Do you want me to guess?"

🐽🐽🐽

The next day, Patrick walks into the library, his eyes settling on the drum set in the middle of the room. He immediately sits down and bangs away without waiting for David to speak, and without any consideration to rhythm or tempo.

It doesn't take long for a laughing, "stop, stop, oh my _god_ , please stop!" to ring through the speakers.

Patrick grins and pretends not to hear it.

🐽🐽🐽

A week later, in the middle of a conversation about their favorite movies (Patrick insists his is _Not Without My Cousin_ , starring one Moira Rose, and David is lecturing him about the importance of films featuring Sandra Bullock in a starring role), a member of the Rose family's staff walks in with a saxophone and sets it down without a word.

Patrick grins at the mirror, picks the saxophone up, and blares into it.

"Oh my _god_ , are you _trying_ to make my ears bleed?"

🐽🐽🐽

The upright bass is next, Patrick plucking at the strings indiscriminately, spinning the instrument.

It drops to the floor, and Patrick turns to the mirror and takes a bow.

"Bravo," he hears David say, sharp claps ringing through the speakers. "That wasn't at all embarrassing for you."

🐽🐽🐽

Patrick has been sitting on the chaise in the library with a pot of tea for an hour, chatting mindlessly about his job, when he asks, "No instrument today?"

"There's already one in there."

Patrick sets down his tea before taking a seat at the piano. He rolls his shoulders and blows out a breath, settling in. He can _feel_ David's smug gaze on his back.

But he doesn't want to show all of his cards just yet. He enjoys the exasperation in David's voice with each instrument he crosses off the list, and Patrick is maybe a little worried that once David figures it out, he will stop wanting to see him every day. So he plays an off-key rendition of "You Are My Sunshine."

"Patrick, come on."

He glances over his shoulder with a wicked grin before smashing his hand down on the keys discordantly.

David's responding crisp laugh just might be the most musical sound Patrick has ever heard.

🐽🐽🐽

The next day, David has a guitar set proudly in the corner, like a challenge, when Patrick arrives.

"You already told me you could play guitar," David reminds him the moment he steps into the room. He's daring him to pretend he can't, like Patrick did yesterday with the piano.

When Patrick picks it up, his eyes sparkle in a way David's never seen. He aches for it. For the chance to look into those eyes up close. He aches for _him_.

Patrick smiles, almost sadly, at the mirror before he starts to play.

It's beautiful.

" _I call you when I need you and my heart's on fire..._ "

David chokes on an inhale. He didn't... he didn't know it would be like _this_.

Patrick once again seems to look right through the mirror, straight into his soul.

David thinks he has the name for the feeling in his chest, that thing that's been growing since he first spoke to Patrick.

It's _longing_.

" _Better than anyone, anyone I've ever met..._ "

David _longs_ for him. Not in the way he longed for Sebastien or Mychelle or Jake or any of the other people he's wanted over the years.

He longs to look Patrick in the eye, to run a fingertip along his jaw, to just be _close_ to him.

He longs to just _be_ with him.

He longs to fling open that door and launch himself into Patrick's arms and kiss the living daylights out of him.

He longs for a world where he can do that without Patrick running from him.

It's so fucking unfair.

And Patrick is staring right into the mirror in that way that makes David believe he can see _through_ it. Through _him_.

" _In your heart I see the start of every night and every day..._ "

David shuts off the mic and lets himself cry.

🐽🐽🐽

Patrick hates to leave the guitar behind, but he knows he'll be back soon. He'll need to come up with a better song, since David didn't seem to have much response to this one.

"Peter, dear!" he hears behind him as he rounds the bottom of the stairs. "Will you join me for a cup of tea?"

Moira Rose is a little terrifying, but if he's going to spend as much time as he wants to with David (which is kind of starting to feel like "forever"), he needs her to know, "It's Patrick, actually."

She scrunches her brows for a moment. "Yes, I believe that's what I said." She gestures to the seat next to her. "Please, sit."

And of course, he does.

Someone appears, seemingly from thin air, to fill both of their teacups, then places the fresh pot between them. A moment later, they are alone in the massive dining room.

"So," she begins, her eyes sparkling with mischief over the rim of her cup. "That was quite the lovely performance."

He coughs, the surprise making his breath catch in his throat. "Thank you?"

"You know," she tells him, her face unreadable. "When you first started coming by, I wasn't certain of your intentions with my son."

His stomach drops, remembering why he was here. "Um—"

"However," Moira says, dropping a sugar cube into her tea before looking him directly in the eye. "I think you may have feelings for him."

Patrick can feel the panic clawing its way up his throat. He hasn't allowed himself to think about it. "I don't... I mean, I— he, um."

She leans closer and rests a hand over his. "You know of the curse. And yet you still visit, nearly every day, just to speak with him."

He nods. "Well, he's incredible." He feels one corner of his mouth twitch up. "He's so... _smart_ and funny, and he..." Patrick thinks about it for a moment. "It clearly hasn't been easy for him. But I just... Is it weird that I'm excited to meet him?" He shrugs, not expecting her to answer, and she makes no indication that she will. "It's fine, though, I like just talking with him. I can wait, I'd wa—" Patrick clamps his jaw shut before the unspoken, ' _I'd wait forever_ ' can slip out. He doesn't want to look _quite_ that desperate to David's mother.

Moira smiles at him. "Well," she says, taking another sip of her tea. "I look forward to the day when you do."

"Me too," Patrick croaks.

She raises one eyebrow at him. "Do you not like the tea?"

Patrick glances back at the cup with a smile and takes a sip.

They finish their tea in relative silence, and a few moments later, she dismisses him with a gentle, "I look forward to seeing you the next time you come to visit him."

"Me too, Mrs. Rose."

🐽🐽🐽

Patrick is at work that night, and even though he has to cover the bar, he's feeling a bit lighter than usual, holding himself just a little taller.

He had a good day.

"Can I ask what's taking so long?" A voice behind him asks. Fuck.

"Oh, is the service here not satisfactory?" He quips.

"I gave you five grand up front, Patrick. Where's my photo?"

He shrugs.

"Ah, I see. He's letting you fuck him, isn't he? I'm shocked he was able to hold out this long, he always seeks _physical_ validation—"

"Shut the fuck up."

Sebastien's eyes widen. "Oh, _oh_. This is... you _like_ him? That... that _monster_?"

Patrick's hands clench into fists, but he keeps his mouth shut.

"How can you even stand the sight of him, he's so... _grotesque_."

"I'm sure he's beautiful," Patrick says.

It was the wrong thing to say.

"Oh, he hasn't shown himself to you yet?" Sebastien asks, faux-pityingly, unable to keep the delight out of his voice. "He revealed his face to me right away. _And then some._ Poor thing, so _desperate_ —"

"Sebastian, if you don't shut the _fuck up_ ," he grinds out, "I swear to _god_..."

"You'll what? Give me my five thousand dollars back?"

Patrick already put down a deposit on an apartment two time zones away. He can say nothing.

"I thought so," Sebastien says, standing and putting his hands on either side of Patrick's face. "When you see it, you'll understand why you were a fool. And when that happens, I will have the other half of your payment waiting."

He walks out of the club without another word.


	4. Chapter 4

🐽🐽🐽

David startles a bit when, over lunch one day, his father says, "So, I hear that young man keeps coming back, that's good, son!"

"Is it?" he asks, tightly.

"Yes, yes, it's very good!" Johnny tells him. He's far too enthused for David's current mood. Especially since he won't be seeing Patrick today. But he absolutely won't be telling his family that _that_ is the reason why he's on edge. "He seems to really like you, this could be it, David."

"Mm." He takes a large bite of his sandwich to avoid the conversation.

Johnny swirls his water glass in place, a nervous tic he's had as long as David can remember. "Do you... not _want_ him to...?" he asks, trailing off.

"No, I mean, yes, I mean... Patrick is... can we please just not make a big deal out of this?" He asks, exasperatedly.

His mother fixes him with a look. "David you can't blame us for being excited! Your past relationships with your suitors have been... one bungle after another." He grimaces. His mother avoids eye contact, fiddling with her parfait. "But here you have the opportunity to step out of the quicksand that was your past and stand firmly in the present." She gives him a too-knowing look. He feels far too exposed for their dining room at noon on a Tuesday. "Let us celebrate that."

"Alexis _is_ very good at her job," his father observes.

David is about to argue that Alexis took over on the matchmaking nearly a decade ago, and Patrick told him that the agency sent him anyway, so he's not sure she should get credit, but that would be admitting that Patrick _is_ special. Or at the very least, different. Instead, he lets Alexis have her moment.

"Yeah, David, I _know_ how to play the dating game, okay? Why do you think Diplo still sends me nudes?" she jokes, the tip of her tongue darting out against her top lip, her eyes going as wide as the saucers under their teacups.

The conversation turns to Alexis' recounting of one of her more narrow escapes from pirates or something, and David is thankful to have the distraction for the remainder of the meal.

"David," Moira asks as he stands to leave once their plates are cleared, "Might I trouble you to join me for a little lunchtime chinwag?"

He sits.

"You know, your sister was quite certain Patrick would be special," she starts.

"Okay, we don't need to—"

"And I must admit, I had my reservations. He seemed far too eager to get to know you. I was concerned he had ulterior motives. But after spending five minutes alone with sweet Pat—"

"We're not doing 'Pat,'" he interjects.

"He sees you," she says, like it's a fact. Like saying the sky is blue or David is cursed. "For all that you are." She is laying it bare for him, and for the first time in a long time, he wants to hug her.

Instead, he swipes at his eyes and jokes, "Well, hopefully not _all_ that I am, because that would mean you spent _far_ too much on a two-way mirror that doesn't even work."

Moira just tilts her head to the side in understanding. "I don't think he would run from you, David," she tells him, gently.

"I'll keep that in mind," he tells her.

And then he walks out of the room, unable to take any more of this.

🐽🐽🐽

"So, you've never had a beer?" Patrick asks him a few days later.

"I've had a beer."

"On tap?"

"No."

"Then you've never had a beer."

David watches him kick his feet onto the sofa and he realizes that he _wants_ him. It's more than just that he's cute and nice and he likes him. It's more than just that he longs to hold his hand and kiss that dumb, self-satisfied smirk off his face. He _wants_ him.

David wants to do all the things to Patrick that people have done to him, and all the things he never felt brave enough to do in the past. He wants to lick at Patrick's thighs until he's trembling, he wants to pin Patrick's arms over his head as he pushes into him, he wants to spread him open and make Patrick come so hard he forgets his own name.

Then he wants to pull him into his arms and stroke his hair while they fall asleep wrapped up in a tangle of limbs, murmuring pillow talk into each other's ears.

He's falling a little in love with Patrick Brewer.

It hits him so suddenly that it makes him gasp.

"You okay?" Patrick asks. Because he's perfect.

"Fine, fine, just... stubbed my toe," he chokes out.

Patrick smirks. "You know what would help with that? Getting black out drunk at a bar."

"I don't see how that would make me _less_ clumsy, Patrick."

"No, but it sounds like fun, eh?" He looks searchingly against the mirror. "There's a pub downtown called the Wobbly Elm."

"That's a terrible name."

He smiles nervously. "Yeah, yeah it is." He watches Patrick duck his head and kick at the carpet with the toe of one cheap shoe. "We could go for a beer?" His voice, eyebrows, and shoulders all go up at the question, matching the hopeful look on his face.

"Maybe later," David responds. He can't do this. He _can't._

"David, please, you..." Patrick steps forward and presses his knuckles gently to the glass. He doesn't knock, he just... holds them there. Waiting. Waiting for _him_. "You gotta come out sometime. There's a whole world out there that would be so much better with you in it."

"You should go," he whispers.

"David! Come on, let's just—"

David escapes out the back door to his room, slamming it behind him, loud enough for Patrick to hear.

🐽🐽🐽

When Patrick comes by the next day, he seems on edge, and David can't put his finger on it.

"Can you stop pacing?" he asks into the microphone.

Patrick glances up with a surprised smile before dropping right onto the nearest surface — which, luckily, happens to be an armchair. "Sorry."

"What's wrong?"

"What makes you so sure something's wrong?"

David rolls his eyes. "Please, I know you better than that, Patrick."

The silence is awkward. He hadn't meant to draw attention to his feelings. But just as David is about to backpedal, Patrick speaks up.

"Have you ever, um..." He fiddles with the sleeve of his coat. "Have you ever done something you regret, but that you know was the right thing?"

"No," David tells him honestly. "I haven't done much of anything, actually." Patrick does that thing where he looks straight through him, and David feels a bit of his resolve crumble. "You can talk to me about your thing, though. If you want."

Patrick pulls his lips into his teeth and nods, before blowing out a breath and starting with, "I was engaged."

"Okay...?"

He laughs, just once, a little bitterly. "Her name is Rachel. We were together for almost fifteen years."

"That's a long time," David says. He hopes it sounds understanding. He hopes he hides that twinge of jealousy at the woman who got to hold Patrick's steady heart in her hands for over a decade.

"Yeah, it is." Patrick looks down at his hands, digging his thumb into one palm. David wants to pull his hands apart, pull them into his, kiss them. Instead, he just waits. "Especially since it wasn't working. It was... never working. It didn't even occur to me until recently why." He laughs again. "God, it took her making a joke that I had a crush on a guy on my baseball team for me to realize that she was _right_."

He gets up and starts pacing again, and David lets him. "That's okay, though, to—"

"I know it's okay, David," he says, not quite snapping at him, but a little firm. David is fine with it. At least Patrick isn't self-loathing. "I just... I can't believe my almost-wife had to spell out for me that I'm gay."

David scrambles to find something comforting to say. "But you figured it out, before..."

"Yeah. I, uh, I didn't tell her. I just... broke things off and moved out."

Oh, so that's the guilt, then. "Oh, um..." He's doing really well with the comfort thing.

"She called yesterday. She's been texting me, expecting us to get back together, and I just... I told her."

"That's good, though, right? That you told her?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's good."

David grins. "Then I'm happy for you."

Patrick just stares at him, or at his own reflection, at least, an almost pleading look in his eyes. "David, please, ask me..."

"What?" he asks, his mouth suddenly dry.

"Please just ask me what I told her," Patrick begs.

"What did you tell her?"

He smiles, his grin a little more unsure than David has ever seen it. "I told her that I met someone. Someone I'm absolutely crazy about."

David feels his stomach drop. "Oh, you—"

"David, I told her about you."

His mind goes blank, and before he knows it, his legs are pulling him away from the mirror.

"Was I wrong?" Patrick asks, quietly. "David, was I wrong?"

"No," David whispers from the open doorway, his hand still resting on the doorknob as if he can pull it closed, hide himself away again, and pretend he didn't just do this.

But Patrick's eyes are on him, wide and open and earnest and before David knows it, they've both taken steps closer to each other.

They're within touching distance now, and David's chest is heaving, he's so scared. He has about two more seconds before Patrick screams and runs out of the room and he never sees him again, and he _isn't ready to lose him_.

But Patrick just stares at him, the look on his face exactly the same as it was when he was looking at David through the mirror.

Which — no, that's not fair. It's not _exactly_ the same. He still looks like he can see straight through David, to the very core of him, but there's also... wonder? Or something like it. Admiration? Maybe both?

David just breathes, and waits, his heart pounding in his ears, a _please_ whispering over and over again in the back of his mind.

"David..." Patrick breathes.

His large, wide eyes bore straight into his and he feels like he's drowning.

He swallows down the lump in his throat. Why did he do this, Patrick is going to leave now, he should've _waited_ , why did Patrick have to make him feel like this?

Why isn't he running?

"David," Patrick repeats, bringing a hand up to cup his face gently.

David stares right back at him, watching as Patrick leans forward, tentatively, brushing his lips featherlight against his.

Patrick gasps against his mouth and David can't take it anymore. He pushes him back against the wall, bracketing Patrick's head with his arms and kisses him deeply, thoroughly, finally, _finally_ feeling something close to what he's always wanted, and he feels that _longing_ in his chest blooming into something beautiful, something—

"Shit!" Patrick wrenches himself away.

Oh.

 _Oh_.

"Fuck, Patrick, I'm so sorry, I'm... I'm a monster." David's out the door before he can look into those eyes again.

"No, David—!"

He runs downstairs, sidestepping Alexis and his parents, and beelines for the kitchen. He doesn't stop to drown his sorrows in leftover pizza like he has in the past, though. Instead, he slips through the back door and makes his way to the tree swing overlooking the pond behind the house.

He sits, and he holds back the tears.

"David?" he hears Alexis call from behind him. "What happened?"

David shrugs. "It's useless, Alexis."

"What's useless, David? So it didn't work out, we'll find someone else—"

"I don't think I want someone else," he whispers. "Alexis, if I... if I couldn't get someone like Patrick to love me as I am, what hope is there?" He swipes at his eyes. "I can't do it anymore, Alexis. I can't..."

She kneels in front of him then and wraps her arms around his shoulders. "David..."

"David!"

He scrambles quickly to his feet, one of his rings getting caught on the frayed rope. He blames the way his knees go weak when his eyes meet Patrick's on the swing knocking harshly into the backs of his legs as it sways forward from the inertia.

His mother is trailing behind Patrick, shouting, "David, do not listen to this... this prevaricator!" He's never seen her protective like this. He wonders how many times she's done this on his behalf, telling off would-be suitors with ill intentions, despite her own obsession with breaking his curse. David feels a rush of affection for her. "I saw him speaking with Sebastien Raine outside, he—"

"David, no, I—"

"How do you know Sebastien?"

"I don't, really, he just—"

"David, you cannot—"

"Hey!" Alexis yells, bringing everyone to a stop. She looks at David and squeezes his hand. "He can still break the curse, David. If you want him to."

He glances back at Patrick's face and he _trusts_ him. Despite his reaction to David's face, despite whatever his mother saw with Sebastien, David still _trusts_ him. And that's enough.

"Patrick," he says, walking toward him, his hands knotted together in front of himself. "I know that my face disgusts you—"

"No, David, I—"

"And I would never _ask_ you to... to suffer with it, just—"

"David, please, just listen to me—"

"Marry me."

"What?"

"Marry me, Patrick. You can break the curse, and I'll look normal, and then—"

"What if it doesn't work?" Patrick asks, sounding slightly desperate. "What if the curse can't be broken?"

He swallows. "Then I'll kill myself," he says, matter-of-factly. "I swear, I will, Patrick, just... _marry me_ , please?"

"David, I... I can't..." Patrick breathes.

David feels like every cell in his body is being burned, the shame and embarrassment and _heartbreak_ too much to bear, not like this, not from _him_.

"Get out," he grinds out, his jaw clenched to hold back the sob clawing its way up his throat.

"David—"

"Get out!"

Alexis is pushing Patrick back around the other side of the house before he even finishes yelling.

He collapses into the grass, sobs wracking his body, the moment Patrick is out of sight.


	5. Chapter 5

🐽🐽🐽

"So, you've never had a beer?"

"I've had a beer," David responds, incredulously.

"On tap?"

"No."

"Then you've never had a beer," Patrick jokes, flashing David what he hopes is a flirtatious smirk.

David doesn't respond, but Patrick hears a faint gasp through the microphone. Or maybe through the glass, he isn't sure. The thought of David being _right there_ thrills him a little.

His heart skips a beat and, oh, yeah. He's got it bad.

 _Fuck_.

"You okay?" he asks.

"Fine, fine, just... stubbed my toe."

Patrick smirks. God, David is so fucking _cute_. "You know what would help with that? Getting black out drunk at a bar."

"I don't see how that would make me _less_ clumsy, Patrick."

"No, but it sounds like fun, eh?" David doesn't respond, so he tries a different approach. "There's a pub downtown called the Wobbly Elm."

"That's a terrible name."

"Yeah, yeah it is." He ducks his head to hide his nervous smile, kicking at the carpet with the toe of one shoe. "We could go for a beer?" he asks, hopefully.

"Maybe later," David responds, flippantly.

God, Patrick is _trying_ to ask him out on a date, here.

"David, please, you..." Patrick steps forward and presses his knuckles gently to the glass, waiting. "You gotta come out sometime. There's a whole world out there that would be so much better with you in it."

"You should go," he hears, faintly.

"David! Come on, let's just—"

He hears a door slam, and sighs.

🐽🐽🐽

That night, when his phone rings with a call from Rachel, he answers.

And when he hangs up, her "you better tell him how you feel, Brewer," hangs over his head until he decides she's right.

🐽🐽🐽

The next day, Patrick is nervously pacing the library. He knows what he's about to do, he just needs to—

"Can you stop pacing?" he hears David's voice from the disembodied speaker on the mantle.

Patrick glances up, surprised, before dropping down to sit, not even looking to see if it would be on a piece of furniture or the carpet. Luckily for him, he happens to be right next to an armchair. "Sorry."

"What's wrong?"

"What makes you so sure something's wrong?" he jokes, flatly.

"Please, I know you better than that, Patrick."

And he _does_ , is the thing. Patrick has been coming here for nearly two months, getting to know David, letting David get to know him.

"Have you ever, um..." He fiddles with the sleeve of his coat, a nervous tic he's had since childhood. "Have you ever done something you regret, but that you know was the right thing?"

"No," David responds. "I haven't done much of anything, actually." Patrick glances up, hoping his face is conveying empathy, hoping David can understand just how much he cares about him. "You can talk to me about your thing, though. If you want."

Patrick pulls his lips into his teeth and nods, before blowing out a breath and starting with, "I was engaged."

"Okay...?"

He laughs, just once, a little bitterly. "Her name is Rachel. We were together for almost fifteen years."

"That's a long time," David says, understanding clear in his voice. It makes Patrick smile a bit.

"Yeah, it is." Patrick looks down at his hands, digging his thumb into one palm. "Especially since it wasn't working. It was... never working. It didn't even occur to me until recently why." He laughs again. "God, it took her making a joke that I had a crush on a guy on my baseball team for me to realize that she was _right_."

"That's okay, though, to—"

"I know it's okay, David," he says, firmly. He needs David to know he's not ashamed. "I just... I can't believe my almost-wife had to spell out for me that I'm gay."

"But you figured it out, before..."

"Yeah. I, uh, I didn't tell her. I just... broke things off and moved out."

"Oh, um..."

"She called yesterday. She's been texting me, expecting us to get back together, and I just... I told her."

"That's good, though, right? That you told her?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's good," he answers with a soft smile, remembering Rachel's support.

"Then I'm happy for you."

Patrick stares at the mirror. "David, please, ask me..."

"What?"

"Please just ask me what I told her," he begs. He knows it's pathetic, but he needs David to _understand_.

"What did you tell her?"

"I told her that I met someone," he tells him, relieved. "Someone I'm absolutely crazy about."

"Oh, you—"

"David, I told her about you."

David says nothing.

"Was I wrong?" Patrick asks, quietly, desperately, his eyes never leaving the mirror, pleading with him. "David, was I wrong?"

"No," David whispers.

But it doesn't come from the speaker.

Patrick glances to his left and—

_Fuck, he's beautiful._

_This_ was the monster Sebastien was so consumed by? He gets that part, because, _god_ , he's beautiful, but...

David is _perfect_ and _beautiful_ and _how the fuck was_ this _a monstrous face_?

He's radiant, striking with his dark eyes and his stubble and his plush mouth and his cheekbones. His wide, round, upturned nose is... okay, it's a little weird, but it's _cute_.

Patrick can _feel_ it slotting into place now. The last few weeks, with this guy who is smart and funny and vulnerable. Finally having a face to put to the voice that has drifted into his best dreams and kept him awake at night in the most glorious way.

And he knows he's staring, he can't help it, even as they both take steps closer to each other.

He can _feel_ it happen, looking into those eyes — the moment he realizes he's fallen in love with him.

"David..." Patrick breathes, just looking at him, drinking him in.

He watches as David's mouth opens, but no words come out. He looks scared. But more than that, he looks _sad_. Does he think _this_ would be enough to drive Patrick away? Is he as far gone as Patrick is? Is he also terrified of losing this?

"David," Patrick repeats, and they're within touching distance now, so it's as easy as anything to bring a hand up to cup David's face gently.

Then he leans forward, tentatively, unable to stop himself from brushing his lips featherlight against David's.

Patrick gasps, feeling the way the air moves between their lips, and then suddenly, everything is _David_. He's being pushed back against the wall, David's strong arms bracketing his head as he kisses him deeply, thoroughly, and Patrick finally, _finally_ feels _right_ and it's so good and he feels like he's floating, being consumed by David like this, and it—

_Snap!_

"Shit!" Patrick wrenches himself away and reaches up for the camera.

David's eyes widen. "Fuck, Patrick, I'm so sorry, I'm... I'm a monster." What? No, _no_!

David bolts out of the room, ignoring Patrick's pleading behind him.

"No, David—!" _Snap!_ "Fuck!"

He pulls the camera off and shoves it into his pocket, before racing downstairs after him.

Patrick wrenches open the front door, wildly searching for David, when he sees an unmistakably disheveled figure lounging against his car where it's parked at the curb.

Patrick is ending this. _Now_.

"I see he finally revealed his true self to you."

"Yeah, yeah, he did, and you know what?" Patrick reaches into his pocket for the camera and slams it down onto the sidewalk, shattering it and ignoring Sebastien's undignified protesting. "He's nothing like you said. He is _good_ , and he is _brilliant_ , and he is _beautiful_. You don't have _any_ idea what—"

"His siren song really did a number on you, didn't it, Patrick?"

Patrick glares daggers, wishing looks could kill.

"But don't you forget — you _aren't_ a blue blood."

"Who gives a shit if—"

"You can't break the curse," Sebastien tells him, gripping his face in his hands.

It hits him like a bucket of ice water. He's _right_. Patrick could never...

"You can never give him what he really wants. What he _needs_."

"Peter?"

He turns in Sebastien's grip to see Moira Rose, standing at the end of the driveway, looking absolutely betrayed.

"Mrs. Rose, no, I—"

She begins to close the gate, but Patrick sprints, vaulting over it easily, silently thanking every P.E. teacher he ever had.

He races through the property, looking for David. He just needs to _explain_ , if he can just _tell him_ the truth about himself, maybe David won't feel the need to break the curse. Maybe he would be willing to accept Patrick's adoration as he is. That's the whole point of the curse, right? Does breaking the curse matter so much to him that being with Patrick wouldn't be enough?

He intends to tell him all of this. He starts to, even.

But then David promises to kill himself if the curse doesn't break and Patrick _can't_.

He leaves when asked, without a fight.

🐽🐽🐽

David needs to leave.

He needs to stop the endless search for an end to this curse and learn to live his goddamn life the way he is. Because he's probably stuck like this, now.

It's the next generation's fucking problem.

He sends a silent apology to Alexis' potential future sons, but he also doesn't know them yet, and he's hurting, so he doesn't really give a shit about saddling them with this.

David pushes his favorite sweaters into a suitcase, wraps a tasteful black-and-white scarf around his face, and with his mother's wallet in hand, he steps out into the night.

He wanders the city, and grabs a postcard to send to Alexis. Just to let them know he's okay.

He passes by a bar, and when he glances up at the neon sign above the door, declaring this establishment to be THE WOBBLY ELM, he lets out a rueful laugh before pushing open the door.

Patrick Brewer may have broken his heart, but he won't let him take this. He's _going_ to have a disgusting beer on tap, hipster boys with their acoustic guitars be damned.

He takes a seat at the bar and instinctively brings his hands up to unwrap the scarf before he remembers that he can't.

"Can I get you something?" a kind-faced woman asks from behind the bar.

"Can I have a beer on tap, um," he glances at the nametag. "Twyla?"

"Sure thing! What kind?"

David blanches. There are _kinds?_ Beer is beer. "Um." He remembers his earlier thought, something borne from watching movies and listening to Alexis' date night stories, and blurts, "I'll have an IPA."

"Coming right up!" He watches her pour (dispense?) the beer, and then she slides it across the bar with a wide smile.

He watches it sail past and shatter on the floor.

"You're supposed to catch it," she tells him, kindly.

"Oh." He decides he likes her. He doesn't think too much about the fact that her kind, gentle tone reminds him of someone.

Especially when she does it again, this time making sure his hands are ready at the bar.

He thinks Patrick might have been right. He can see how this could be fun.

He doesn't want to think about what else Patrick may be right about — like not wanting him.

So David lifts the beer to his lips and — oh, right. The scarf.

A straw materializes in front of him and he accepts it with a grin that she can't see anyway.

He tucks the straw under his scarf, takes a long swig and feels like he's being _poisoned_.

"This is disgusting," he whispers, choking.

"Oh, did you get the IPA?" a brunette woman asks as she drops down onto the stool next to him. "Yeah, it's bad. Don't listen to straight white dudes about beer."

He wants to laugh, but he just pictures Patrick's earnest face and it makes him want to cry instead.

"He wasn't straight, but I still think you're correct."

She looks over with a smirk. "Stevie," she introduces, extending a hand.

"David."

"What's with the scarf, it's the middle of summer."

"It's _October_!"

She waves him off, like it's an easy mistake to make. "Did you get a bad nose job or something?"

He laughs, thinking about his family's attempt at surgically fixing his nose. He _wishes._ "Yep, yeah. Bad nose job." It seems easier to just agree than try to think of another excuse.

"Hey, Twyla, can my friend and I get a couple of whiskeys? You know the one, in the—"

"The short bottle, yeah, I know," Twyla responds, her eyes sparkling a bit.

He and Stevie drink their whiskey, and talk about their worst exes (Sebastien for him, a guy named Emir for her) and the best sex they've ever had (no one for him, "unfortunately, still Emir" for her).

David likes her. She's bitter and funny.

"So, where are you staying? I can give you a ride," she says.

"Oh, um, I haven't actually, um..."

Stevie narrows her eyes at him. "You don't have a place to stay?"

He shakes his head at her, before pointing at the suitcase next to him. "I... just got into the city and stopped for a drink."

"Okay, well, I own a hotel not far from here, if you want a room?"

Which is how he finds himself in a small, dingy hotel room two blocks away, with Stevie's personal stash of whiskey to keep him company.

He unwraps the scarf from his face and takes in the sprawling lights, the _life_ , of the city outside and he feels like he can breathe for the first time in hours.

It causes something to rattle loose in his chest, and he lets out a sob, then immediately drowns it with a gulp of whiskey.

He's done crying over Patrick Brewer. And over this curse.

He's going to do whatever the fuck he wants from now on.


	6. Chapter 6

🐽🐽🐽

David wakes up the next day to someone pounding on his door, and he freezes.

How did they find him already? Can he jump out the window?

"David, open the door!"

"Stevie?!"

"Yes, get your ass up!"

He laughs and wraps his scarf around his face before wrenches open the door. A paper coffee cup is shoved into his hands as Stevie pushes past him into the room and makes herself right at home on his bed.

"What are you doing here?"

She looks at him. "Are you really gonna wear that scarf?"

He nods.

"Right now?"

He nods.

"Your coffee will get cold."

He shrugs.

"David, come on. I guarantee I've seen worse."

He thinks of Patrick's reaction, how he just _stared_ at him, how he gasped, how he refused to marry him to break the curse.

But Stevie isn't Patrick.

Stevie is carefree and a little aloof and he can't imagine her caring about something as trivial as his nose.

So he clenches his jaw and unwraps the scarf.

Stevie cocks her head. " _This_ is your nose job?" She snorts, which is actually in really poor taste, considering? "Damn, you must have _really_ pissed off that surgeon."

She takes a sip of her coffee.

She doesn't run. She doesn't gawk at him. She doesn't scream.

She just... sips her coffee.

"I didn't have a nose job," he confesses. "My family is cursed."

Stevie's eyes widen. "Right, yeah, a curse. Totally believable."

"They were!" he protests.

"Okay, sure, listen, you should really talk to Twyla about this sometime, her family is big into magic and shit." She gestures toward him, rolls her eyes at his designer pajamas, and tells him, "Now, drink your coffee, put your scarf on, and let's go."

He takes a sip of his coffee. A vanilla latte. It's delicious, but not quite what he would make, if he were at home with this parents' espresso machine. "Go? Go where?"

"I'm taking you on a tour of the city."

"Why?"

She cocks her head at him. "Because you've never been and I'm bored. So hurry up."

🐽🐽🐽

They spend their days exploring the city. He tries on couture in boutiques he has dreamed of visiting for years. He forces Stevie into a dress she eyes from the sidewalk, and buys it for her just because he can. He graciously says nothing when she wears it to the Wobbly Elm and leans far forward on the bar, flashing a dazzling smile at Twyla, who stumbles over a very cute compliment.

It makes something bitter twist inside him, and he realizes that's the thing that still holds on to Patrick. He decides to let himself feel it, and spends the evening quietly watching Stevie and Twyla dance around each other, resisting the urge to yell at them to just tell each other, that they have a real chance at something he lost and misses like a limb. That he doesn't want them to feel like this one day, when they realize it has slipped through their fingers — or in his case, been yanked violently from his grasp.

But it seems delicate, this thing between them, so he watches with a soft smile, tamping down the fear he feels for them, but letting the bitterness rise.

They visit art museums and David revels in the paintings and sketches and photographs and sculptures. He returns one night when they have extended hours, and sits in front of an abstract painting of two dark lines twined together, and tries not to think of Patrick.

They visit a farmer's market, and David marvels at the array of fresh produce and buys a handmade goat's milk soap, scented with fresh rosemary. He leaves with a wallet full of business cards, intending to buy more from the beekeeper whose meadowfoam honey tastes like marshmallows, and the lavender farmer who bakes delicious lavender shortbread, and the cidery that offered him a straw to taste their limited-release blackberry cider, and the woman he suspects is a witch that handed him a tester of eucalyptus eye serum that made his dark circles disappear in a minute flat.

And he buys some bath bombs from a person who promises they dispel negative energies, hoping it will rid him of the curse. He takes their business card, too, thinking he may want to buy Twyla something to thank her for her kindness.

(And that night, he settles into a bath at the hotel. And while his nose does not change, his mood is certainly lifted and his skin is notably softer, and he supposes he cannot hold their inability to fix a centuries-old curse with self-care items against them.)

He drags Stevie to restaurants, too, ordering takeout and gorging themselves back at the hotel.

And through it all, he learns he kind of likes beer on tap. Though he definitely prefers Twyla's mystery red cocktail that tastes like nail polish remover and makes his limbs floaty.

🐽🐽🐽

Their eighth day in the city, it happens.

At first, he thinks his eyes are playing tricks on him — the newspaper folded under a man's arm, the word "PIG" sticking out on a headline.

They pass a newsstand, and for a moment, David wants to double back, certain he caught a glimpse of something.

Then they pass a woman reading on a park bench, the paper unfolded in front of her, the headline clear as day:

# Have You Seen This Pig? 

A crude sketch of himself sits below the headline — his teeth pointy, his hair wild, his brows bushier than even his father's, which, okay. Rude.

But it's the pig nose that draws the eye.

God, is that _really_ how it looks to the world? No wonder Patrick thought he was a monster.

"David?"

He hears Stevie, but he can't say anything.

He feels her grip his arm and pull him down the block, stopping at another newsstand and buying a paper, before pulling him into the park.

Stevie leads them to a secluded bench, and under any other circumstances, he would ask how she knows about it — illicit teenage hookups when she was in high school, maybe? But right now, he's grateful, so he sits with her and they read the article together.

# Have You Seen This Pig? 

### $5,000 Reward 

The Daily seeks information regarding the whereabouts of this creature. Have you ever seen one so grotesque? So tragically hideous? Please contact our office at...

There's no byline. But David knows.

He's not going to let him win, not this time.

"Stevie?"

She looks at him, her brown eyes wide. It reminds him of Patrick and for a moment, he misses him, until the heartbreak comes rushing back.

"Will you take a picture of me?"

🐽🐽🐽

# Behold! The Pig-Faced Man 

  


# "It" Exists! 

  


# Are There Others? 

### Is he the only "little piggy" in town? 

  


# In First Interview, David Rose Says "Hi!" 

  


# Mayor: Hello David 

  


# City Embraces David Rose 

  


# Scarf Sales Soar! 

  


# Bonjour! David Speaks French 

  


# Exclusive: Pig-Latin Banned From Schools 

🐽🐽🐽

"So," Stevie says as they walk, the scarf wrapped around David's face to give him anonymity. "What made you decide to do all this?"

"All what?"

"This!" she gestures broadly. "Get out on your own, explore the world, declare your independence or whatever."

David bites back a smile. "There was a guy."

"Ah, there always is."

He cocks his head at her. "Really?"

She shrugs. "I almost went on a month-long road trip with Emir, so I get it."

"Yeah. I guess you do."

"So it's not a happily-ever-after?"

"No. He um... he was different. But he saw my face and..."

Stevie furrows her brows. "David..."

"No, no, I um, I didn't wait long enough. He was sweet, and... and so funny, and _smart_ and I..."

"You loved him."

 _Love_ , he wants to correct. Instead, he tells her, "I proposed to him."

"What?!"

"He said no. Can't really blame him," he says, gesturing to his face. "But it's okay, you know? It doesn't always work out. But hey, he recommended the Wobbly Elm, so I never would've met you if I hadn't met him."

She grins. "So, who should I send my thank you card to?" she teases.

"Patrick Brewer. Fitting name for a beer guy, I suppose."

"Mmhmm. Fitting name." She pulls on his sleeve. "Come on, there's a bakery this way that I think you'll love."

🐽🐽🐽

"Patrick _motherfucking_ Brewer."

His head snaps up, his eyes leaving the bar's income spreadsheet for the first time in hours.

He grins. "Stevie! To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I met a friend of yours the other day."

"Unlikely," he jokes. "I don't have many of those these days. Present company excluded, of course."

"Oh, of course."

She sits across from him at the bar, and looks at him expectantly.

He rolls his eyes, grabbing her favorite whiskey.

"So, who's the friend?"

"Might want to put that bottle down first."

He laughs as he pours. "Just spit it out."

"David Rose."

He drops the bottle, watching it fall to the floor and shatter, seemingly in slow motion. " _Fuck_!"

"Told you."

He doesn't look up, just watches the whiskey seep into the crevices of the floor and under the non-slip mat, until he hears her _thwack_ something down onto the bar top.

A newspaper.

David's beautiful face in black and white stares back at him, his eyes shining with determination and eyebrows quirked as if challenging something, that mouth that's haunted his dreams turned up in a self-satisfied smirk. Patrick feels his heart clench. Even in print, he still has to fight back to urge to reach out and trace a finger along that brow, that jaw, those lips, even that nose.

He just wants to be with him.

"He's out there, Patrick," Stevie tells him, her eyes boring straight through him. "Asserting his independence."

"I'm glad," he chokes.

"What happened?"

"I couldn't give him what he wanted," he responds with a shrug, like it's that simple.

"The way he tells it, _you're_ the idiot that said no."

The corner of his mouth quirks in a sad smile. "Did he tell you who he thinks I am?"

"I mean, he gave me your name, so—"

Patrick grabs another bottle and pours himself a glass. "He thinks I'm Patrick Brewer, of the Milwaukee Brewers—"

She snorts.

"Yeah, I know, I panicked," he takes a sip of his drink. "He thinks my family owns some tea empire."

"Tea?"

"I _did_ say I panicked, right?"

She just tilts her glass toward him. "So what? So you tell him the truth."

He shakes his head. "It's not that easy. Even if I did, he... it won't help. I'm not a blue blood."

"Patrick, I know he's kind of stuck-up, but don't think he _really_ cares about—"

He tosses back the rest of his whiskey in one gulp. "I can't break the curse, Stevie."

Stevie's eyes go wide in empathetic understanding. "Oh."

"Yeah."

He pours himself another and watches her swirl the liquid in her glass. "You love him."

"Yeah. Yeah, Stevie, I really do."

"And you don't think that would be enough for him?"

"I didn't say no because of the curse. I said no because... because he told me he would kill himself if he can't break it."

"I don't think—"

"I can't risk that, Stevie. I can't... I can't risk _him._ "

She nods, and they finish their drinks in companionable silence.

Stevie sets her empty glass down and stands, pulling her coat on.

She's almost out the door when she tells him, "We go to the Wobbly Elm a lot, if you... if you wanted to see him." He looks up, but he can't quite parse out her expression. "Maybe I'll see you there sometime?"

He nods once, and then she's gone.

He sighs, and starts cleaning up the broken glass.

And once he's done, he glances back at the spreadsheet, before walking over to the piano. He plucks out a few chords before settling in, letting his fingers move over the keys easily, his arrangement of "The Best" filling the space to the rafters.

And by the time it ends, and the final chord fades away, he's made up his mind.


	7. Chapter 7

🐽🐽🐽

David knew his life of freedom was over once his mother saw the papers.

Of course, she had his sister's help tracking him down from other people's social media posts, and really, he should've known better.

"So, this is the establishment where you have chosen to rest your weary head at night?" she asks, looking around Stevie's hotel in distaste. "It is..."

"Charming?" he offers with a smirk.

"Derelict is a touch more accurate, dear."

He takes in the room, the turquoise brick behind his bed, the worn carpet underfoot, and shrugs. "It's better than a motel. At least I'm off the ground floor."

"Ah, an important perquisite."

They stand in awkward silence. Should he offer her a drink? Should he suggest they go to dinner?

"You won't be returning home any time soon, will you?"

That's... not what he was expecting. "No," he answers. "I don't think I'm done with this place yet."

He watches his mother nod. "Okay. And that girl, she's... taking care of you? Seeing to your safety?"

"Yes, mother, Stevie is making sure I'm not mugged in a dark alley."

"And are _you_ being safe? With her?"

"Oh my _god_ , no, it's not like that. We're friends." Stevie is gorgeous, and in a world where Patrick Brewer hadn't ruined him, he may have wanted her, if she wanted him in all his swiney glory. Which he doubts anyway.

But he can _see_ the wheels turning in her head. It's out of character for her to think before she speaks. "David, dear, I must ask..." _Must you_? he thinks. "Does this have anything to do with that boy? Parker-something?"

"Patrick," he corrects with an eye roll. He knows she knows Patrick's name. She's trying to make it seem like he was irrelevant, but it does nothing to convince David of it.

"Yes, I do believe that's what I said," she looks at him, knowingly. He's never hated how alike they are more than he does in this moment.

"It... doesn't _not_ have to do with him," he answers, turning away from her to admire the city view (and to escape her knowing gaze). "He... it broke my heart. I need to... to figure out who I am, what I want in life, before..." he swallows. "Once I get married — _if_ I get married — and the curse is broken, what then?"

Moira struggles to find the answer. He thinks this may be the first time in his life he's ever seen this happen.

"I need to find something that I love. Especially since I won't find a spouse that I do."

"Oh, dear, you can't say for certain—"

"I can, though. I won't, not after..." He swallows the lump in his throat and shakes his head, flashing her a forced smile. "But it's okay. Even if one day, I marry someone and break the curse, at least… at least I'll be fulfilled in other ways. And if I don't, then at least I have a _life_."

Moira steps forward and rests her hand on his cheek, smiling gently. It's unnerving. "I understand. We will continue our search while you continue yours."

A moment later, he's alone in the hotel room, just a little colder than he was before.

For the first time since puberty, he wishes his mother was the type to tell him that she loves him.

🐽🐽🐽

David _hates_ darts. He's not good at it, he has _zero_ hand-eye coordination, but people are chanting his name, and he likes the attention and the company and the _freedom_ that the newspaper headlines have afforded him, the opportunity to just be himself in public, so he tries.

On his sixth throw, the dart ends up going so wide that he's afraid he's taken someone's eye out, so he excuses himself. He'd rather drink anyway.

David makes his way through the crowd, shouting over his shoulder at someone he vaguely recognizes that he will be back once he gets a refill, before bumping into—

"Hi," he breathes.

"Hi," Patrick responds.

He looks fantastic. His smile is bright in the dim light of the bar, his eyes sparkling. His hair is a little longer, starting to show a bit of curl at the front. David wants to sink his fingers into it and _pull_.

"Wow, you really did it, eh?" Patrick asks, nervously. "I mean, uh... you look great! Uh, really, um... really happy."

"Thanks," David responds, flatly.

Patrick fidgets with his hands. "You know, you inspired me. Doing what you did, going out on your own like that... I uh, I started writing music again and—"

He doesn't know why he does it, but before he can stop himself, he asks, "Do you want to get out of here?"

"Yes," Patrick breathes.

So David grabs his hand and pulls him out of the bar and down the street and up the stairs and into his hotel room without saying a word.

"David, I—"

He cuts him off with a frantic kiss, and then Patrick's hands are finally, _finally_ on his waist, and he kisses him back with fervor, and it's so good.

Patrick's stubble catches his as their mouths move, and he gives as much as he takes, and they share breath, and they share the same space, with no room between their bodies.

"David," Patrick moans, and he has never heard a sweeter sound.

He reaches for Patrick's belt, whispering, "Patrick, please, can I?"

"Yes, yeah, David, _fuck_ , anything..."

David unbuckles Patrick's belt, shoving his ugly, flattering jeans down just enough to get a hand inside, and he grips Patrick's cock through his — blue, of fucking course — boxer briefs. He leans in and kisses him again, pressing down with the heel of his hand, thinking, _I'm good at this, it's all I'm good for, let me show you what I'm good for_ , and relishing in the delicious noise Patrick makes between their lips.

"David, can we—"

"Yes," he breathes. He doesn't know what Patrick was going to suggest, but he hopes it has to do with making their way over to the bed. That's certainly what David attempts to do, anyway, nudging Patrick toward the thin mattress.

He watches, shocked and fond, as Patrick scrambles to cross the room, tripping inelegantly on the jeans he seems to have forgotten were around his ankles. He can't believe Patrick is so... _excited_ about this.

He can believe it even less when Patrick reaches out and pulls David on top of him.

And he still can't believe it when Patrick undresses him gently and with extreme care, expertly avoiding stretching the neck of David's sweater as he pulls it over his head, and he's shocked when Patrick stands, still in his undershirt and boxers, and carefully folds David's clothes, resting them on the desk in the corner of the room.

And he _definitely_ can't believe it when Patrick joins him back in the bed and runs one shaking, tentative hand up his arm, along his shoulder, and across his chest to rest over his heart.

David gasps when Patrick leans forward and softly brushes his lips over the skin there, just above his own fingertips, where David's heart is rapidly beating away.

"Patrick, what are you—"

Patrick looks up at him then, his big, expressive eyes soft and fond and _caring_ , and David feels himself shatter apart.

Patrick smiles at him before leaning forward and kissing him, gently, _reverently_ , as if David is the most precious thing in the world.

He can't take it. This was supposed to be a quick and dirty hookup, he was going to fuck Patrick Brewer right out of his system.

David feels his jaw tremble when Patrick's nose brushes against his and he doesn't even _flinch_ , he just presses closer, easing David's lips apart with a gentle kiss.

"You can't... Patrick, what are you doing? What is this?" he whispers, pulling back slightly but keeping his eyes shut.

"David..." Patrick sounds _wrecked_ , like David is hurting him. He feels Patrick brush his fingertips featherlight along his hairline, before cupping his jaw and running his thumbs over his cheekbones. "Do you really not know?"

"You— you left."

He shakes his head. "I didn't want to, but I..." Patrick traces one finger gently down his nose, before leaning forward and pressing a light kiss to the tip. " _God_ , you're so fucking beautiful, David."

David just squeezes his eyes shut with a sharp inhale. He doesn't know how much more of this he can take. "Please..."

He doesn't even know what he's asking for.

"Hey," Patrick prods, gently nosing at David's cheek. "Can you look at me?"

David shakes his head, but opens his eyes. The look on Patrick's face would bring him to his knees if he weren't already lying down.

Patrick presses a soft kiss to his lips, before pulling back, and settling his hands gently on either side of David's face to keep him from looking away. "I love you, David."

He feels a sob escape.

"Oh, no, David, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, hey, hey," Patrick wraps his arms around him and kisses his neck gently, right below his ear.

"You can't... not if you don't mean it."

"David, hey," Patrick says, pulling back slightly to look him in the eye. "Of course I mean it."

He bites his lip so hard that he tastes blood. He wants to tell him that he loves him too, he wants to ask why he broke his heart, he wants to scream at him for the anguish he caused, and he wants to tell him how beautiful he is. "Then why wouldn't you marry me?" is what comes out instead.

"I'm so sorry, I... David, I don't have the power to break the curse."

Patrick sounds genuinely pained about this, and David's eyes snap to his.

"What do you mean?"

Patrick's lips quirk into a sad smile, before he lets go of David entirely, and sits up against the headboard, the cheap cotton sheet pooling in his lap. "David, I need you to know that I wasn't lying. Everything we had was real."

David feels his stomach turn to ice. "Um..."

"You don't need to believe me, but I swear to you, it's the truth." Patrick smiles sadly at him one more time. "But I did lie to you. Sebastien Raine paid me to lie about my family, in exchange for a picture of you. Which I never gave him!" he scrambles to add. "He wanted to add it to a show he was putting on and I... David, the worst thing I've ever done is agree to do that to a stranger. I was so desperate to get out of town, after everything with Rachel, and I... _god_ , I'm so sorry. But I don't regret it, not since I met you."

David just looks at him, unable to process.

"My parents aren't blue bloods. No one in my family is." Patrick lets out a wet laugh. "I can't break the curse for you."

"You're..."

"Patrick Brewer, working class stiff," he tells him, bitterly. "I'm so sorry for lying to you."

"So, you just never _told_ me?!"

"I was going to! David, I swear, I was going to, but then you said you would kill yourself if the curse didn't break, and I couldn't... David, I couldn't risk that."

He feels the sob building, but he can't say anything. All this time, he thought Patrick didn't _care_.

"I loved you too much. I _love_ you too much," he hears Patrick whisper.

"Even like this?" he asks, softly.

Patrick grins at him. " _Especially_ like this. David, this is _you_. How could I not love any part of you?"

It loosens something in him, hearing those words. The hold the curse has had on him has lessened over the last few weeks, enjoying his independence and finding a place for himself. These words, said by this man, nearly pulls him completely from its clutches.

So he leans forward to root around in his nightstand for the bottle of lube he bought last week, tucked behind the vibrator, and he doesn't think about the fact that he bought it to learn about the ways sex could be good, and he shoves it into Patrick's hands, who looks at it like the greatest gift he's ever gotten.

And he's so gentle and so caring as he slowly opens David up, and he's so focused and so determined when he finally pushes inside of him.

And David had _no idea_ that this is what it was supposed to be like.

It's all he can do to wrap his legs around Patrick's waist and his arms around Patrick's neck and let him show him how beautiful he thinks he is.

And when he comes, it's with Patrick's name on his tongue, and when Patrick follows him over the edge, it's with his eyes locked on David's face and their fingers tightly entwined.

And when they lay together after, David tucks his face into Patrick's neck and whispers, "I love you too, Patrick," and feels Patrick's arms tighten around him, pulling him even closer.

And he is _content_ and so fucking _happy_ that he feels like he's going to implode, and he wants to tell Patrick that he loves him over and over and over—

_I'm a little bit a-la la la la la la la, a little bit Alexis..._

"Fuck!"

He pulls away, fumbling for his phone.

"David?" Patrick asks, bleary-eyed, clearly shaken from his post-orgasm haze.

"I'm sorry, it could be an emergency—"

_La la la la la la la, a little bit Alexis..._

"—especially with her, it—"

_Hide your diamonds, hide your exes..._

"David, of course, just answer it."

He shoots a gorgeously disheveled Patrick one apologetic smile before answering.

"David! David, oh my god, how soon can you be home?"

"Alexis? What's going on is everything—"

"David, seriously, get here like, _now_ , please!" she begs, the urgency in her voice making his heart speed up in his chest.

"I'm on my way."

He hangs up, glancing over to Patrick, who is already (tragically) pulling his boxers back on.

"I have to—"

"It's fine," Patrick says.

"Can you stay? We can... when I get back? We can..."

"I'll be here," Patrick says with a grin. "I'll wait for you."

David grins, leaning in to kiss him, and Patrick returns it with equal enthusiasm.

It's not until he's halfway down the block and someone does a double-take that he remembers he has a pig nose.

He'd forgotten, with Patrick.

Somehow, Patrick made him feel beautiful.

He grins, stepping up the pace. The sooner he finds out what the emergency is, the sooner he can get back.

🐽🐽🐽

"Oh, David! The most wonderful thing has happened!"

He glances at Alexis, who looks stressed, and follows his mother into the dining room.

Where Sebastien fucking Raine sits ultra-casually at the head of the table, not even standing when they enter.

"What's going on?"

"David," Sebastien says, finally rising from his chair and striding over to place a kiss on either of his cheeks. He shivers, and not in the way Patrick makes him shiver.

"Sebastien, uh, you're-you're _here..._ "

"It's so good to see you. Look at you, you look really... _healthy_."

David wants to _hit him_. "Thanks."

"I think you're brave," Sebastien drawls.

"Mmk..."

"David, I was hoping we could, you know, catch up."

"Yeah, I'm super busy these days."

"I just feel like we have unfinished business, you and I."

"What the fuck do you want, Sebastien?"

"David," his mother admonishes. "Sebastien has something he would like to ask you."

"David, I want you to know that I care about what happened between you and me. And while my therapist said I should never feel sorrow, I am... regretful that I ran from my feelings."

"Oh, your _feelings_? _That's_ what you were running from? Because I thought you were running from my, how did you put it? 'Tragically monstrous visage.'"

Sebastien smiles lecherously. "I was only running from my feelings for you, David."

"Mm, and Patrick? How do you explain _that_?"

"David, don't make the boy beg," his mother starts, pulling his arm to make him face her. "He can break the curse, my dear."

"You _hate_ him! You were freaking out when you caught Patrick talking to him!"

"Yes, but that was _before_ dear."

"Before _what_ , before he showed up with his routing number, just _ready_ to accept my dowry?"

"David!" his mother hisses. "He can end your torment and give you a normal life."

"No, things are different now, I have... I have friends, and—" _And Patrick_ , he wants to say, but he's not sure he does. Their evening together looks different in the light of the home where he spent the last three decades desperately searching for someone to love him.

"Those aren't friends, dear. Those are _fans_ ," she tells him, with the air of someone bitterly and intimately familiar with the distinction. "You are but a sideshow to them. But Sebastien wants to _marry_ you. He wants to ease this pain for you."

David feels his blood turn to ice. He catches Alexis' eyes over his mother's shoulder. She looks helpless.

"Are you prepared to walk away from your only chance at a normal life?"

He looks back at Sebastien, and watches as he extends an arm out, a horribly tacky ring between his fingers. "Will you marry me, David?" He doesn't even get down on one knee.

Is it? Is it his only chance? He needs to talk to Patrick.

"I'll think about it," he tells him, before pushing past them both toward the side door.

"David! _David!_ " he hears Alexis calling, and he waits for her to catch up. "David, I _know_ Sebastien is the last person you want to consider, but he's _here_ and it can be _over_ now, you can—"

"I saw Patrick tonight."

"What?"

"We were... it might work out."

She grins at him. "Well what the hell did you come here for then?"

"You said it was an emergency!"

Alexis laughs. "I thought it was!"

David bites his lip. "He's not a blue blood. He can't break the curse. But he... He loves me. I think."

Her eyes go wide. " _That's_ why he said no."

"I think so, yeah."

She wraps her arms tightly around him in a hug, before pulling back and booping his nose. "Go, David. Before mom comes."

So he runs, grabbing a cab as soon as he hits the street, unable to waste the time walking back. And when it pulls up to the hotel, he races inside, barely glancing at the man behind the front desk.

"Patrick?" he calls as he opens his door.

"Hey, is everything okay?" Patrick asks, shutting off the TV and pushing himself off the couch.

His hair is still disheveled, his shirt is rumpled from being thrown to the floor, and his signature (fugly) braided belt isn't around his hips.

And David _loves him_. And things feel _real_ , here, in a way they didn't when he was at his parents' house, so he wraps his arms around Patrick's shoulders and kisses him deeply.

And when he pulls away, he tells him again.

"I love you."

It comes out easily. Like he can just _say_ it whenever he wants, now. Like it's that simple.

From the look on Patrick's face, it might be.

Patrick grins and pulls him in for another kiss, his hands gripping David's waist tightly.

"So everything is good?"

"Mmhmm. Someone wants to marry me, but—"

Patrick steps back like he was burned. "What?"

David shakes his head. "It's fine, I'm... I wasn't sure how real this was? So I had to... but I'm going to say no."

"Why?"

"Because you... we... unless you don't want...?"

"No, no, David, o-of course I do, I just..." Patrick scrubs a hand over his face. "Have you thought about it?"

"I don't need to."

He smiles gently at David, his eyes full of more understanding than David thinks he deserves. "You've wanted this your entire life, David."

"But I want _you_ , Patrick, I—"

Patrick kisses him gently. "Hey. Think about it, okay? I'm not going anywhere. Whatever you decide, I understand."

"How can you be so nice about this?"

Patrick shrugs. "I love you too much to take this from you."

David has to kiss him, then. "Will you stay tonight, at least?"

"I'll stay as many nights as you want me to, David."

They don't talk much after that, undressing quietly and taking their time taking each other apart and building each other back up again, before falling asleep, wrapped up tightly in each other's arms.

And when David wakes up to Patrick's warm lips on his forehead and a pit of dread in his stomach, he knows it's over before he even opens his eyes.

"You're dressed," he observes when Patrick pulls away.

"Yeah, I uh, I have to go to work."

"You're leaving."

"I'm giving you time alone to think about it."

"I've been alone for 30 years, Patrick."

Patrick leans forward and kisses him, not taking the bait. "I love you, David. No matter what you decide." He pulls a card out of his wallet, a PB printed on the back, and drops it on his nightstand. "In case you choose this. But I'll understand if you don't."

He kisses him again, and a moment later, he's out the door.

And David is _angry._

Patrick _fucking_ Brewer, so noble and understanding, pulling himself from the equation so David can have space that he _didn't even ask for_ , because Patrick knows what's best for everyone.

He cries himself back to sleep, even though he swore he was done crying over Patrick Brewer.


	8. Chapter 8

🐽🐽🐽

# Engaged! Sebastien Raine To Marry David Rose 

Patrick slams the paper down onto the bar less than 24 hours after he told David he would give him space to decide.

Sebastien? _Sebastien_ is the one who proposed?

He clenches his jaw and paces his apartment, just for something to do.

He's such an idiot. So he can't break the curse, who cares? He _loves_ David, and David loves him back.

He came back for him. He was proposed to and he still...

But does he love him enough to be fine with his lineage? Or did he come back because Patrick was a better option than Sebastien? He seemed to go back to Sebastien quickly enough.

He shakes off the ugly thought. David made his choice. Patrick promised to understand it. And he may be devastated, but at least David is getting what he's always wanted.

He should congratulate him, let David know that he doesn't resent him for making this choice.

But Patrick doesn't have his number. He only knows he hangs out at the Wobbly Elm, but now, he's not so sure. He's engaged to Sebastien Raine, after all.

And Patrick has been picking up shifts at the bar, trying to earn back the money he took from Sebastien so he can pay him back and wipe that slate clean. He can't exactly just sit at the Elm all night every night, hoping to see David.

But that night, Sebastien breezes back into the Wilhern, smug as ever, as if to rub Patrick's face in it.

"Get the fuck out of here," Patrick growls when Sebastien saunters over to him.

"How are you doing, Patrick?" Sebastien greets, kissing him on either cheek. "You look _exhausted_. Have you been sleeping well?"

"What's your angle, Sebastien?" he demands.

He shrugs. "David went public. No one will buy a photo of him now. But the dowry is... oh, Patrick, his dowry is _huge_." He says with a smirk.

"You make me sick," Patrick hisses.

"Why? I'm the one who is _giving him exactly what he wants_ ," he says lecherously, the double-entendre clear.

"I swear to god, I'm going to—"

"You're going to what, Patrick? Tell him that the only person willing to break the curse still gags at the sight of him? Still finds his entire existence so... horrifically depressing?" He leans in to whisper into his ear, "That I have to fuck him from behind because his face is so grotesque?"

Patrick sees red, and for a moment, he thinks he could kill him.

David doesn't deserve this. He doesn't deserve to be treated like a payday. He _certainly_ doesn't deserve to marry someone who thinks he's a hideous monster. No one does, but especially not David, who the furthest thing from it, who is _good_ and _kind_ and _smart_ and _wonderful_.

"Be my guest," Sebastien continues, pulling back and cupping Patrick's face in both hands, keeping his gaze on him. "But it's not me you'll be hurting, is it? It's him." Sebastien sighs. "And just to think, if you'd only kept up your end of the agreement, I wouldn't be doing this. You could live happily ever after with your pathet—"

"You're such a useless fucking—"

"Maybe. But I won, didn't I? And what do you have to show for it?"

Sebastien leans forward then, and whispers, "Oh, and don't worry about the five grand. My _fiancé_ will make sure I'm _well_ taken care of." He presses his lips to Patrick's cheek. "One for the road, from my future husband," he purrs into his ear.

And then he's gone, the sound of the bar rushing back to Patrick.

He blinks twice before he feels the bile rise up his throat, and he runs to the bathroom to empty his stomach.

🐽🐽🐽

"Hey," Alexis says tentatively when she enters the room. "How are you?"

"Fine," David responds, flatly.

"You _sound_ fine."

David sighs. "Let's get this over with."

He stands, and Alexis reaches over to hug him. "This suit is very nice," she tells him, pulling back to run the pad of her thumb along the lapel of the classic navy jacket. He's had it for a few years, waiting for an excuse to wear it. He supposes a last-minute engagement party is as good an excuse as any.

"Thank you."

"It, um... it doesn't really feel like _you_ though?"

He shrugs. "In a few weeks, I won't _be_ me anymore."

She grins and boops his nose. "You'll still be you. Just, like, David-Plus, you know?"

"Sure, whatever. Let's get this over with."

Alexis purses her lips at him. "You don't have to do this."

He nods. "Yeah. But Sebastien already had the announcement printed, so, what choice do I have?"

"It was only printed _yesterday_ , David. And you never said yes. You could still choose Patrick."

He shakes his head, but he can't speak.

Even if he did, then what? He'll be pig-faced forever? Force Patrick to live his life with him like this?

 _Would that be so bad?_ Thinks a voice in the back of his head that sounds strangely like Patrick.

Patrick, who cradled David's jaw and drank in the sight of his face and _didn't run_. Patrick, who called him _beautiful_. Patrick, who let him choose.

Patrick, who _loves him_.

"David," Sebastien drawls from the doorway, "are you almost ready?"

David just stares at him for a moment.

He can't force Patrick into a life with someone like him. He knows what it's like. He wouldn't wish this on anyone, least of all Patrick.

But he can't marry Sebastien, either.

So he makes a third choice.

He'd rather be a monster than be married to one.

"I can't do this," he whispers, before pushing past Sebastien and fleeing upstairs.

"David?!" he hears his mother call, but he soldiers on, up the final flight and into the room behind the library, locking the door behind him.

He practically lived in this room for the last 30 years, but it suddenly feels small and stifling.

"David!"

"Leave me alone!"

"David, it's not too late!"

"Go away!" he shouts as he pulls out his suitcase.

"David, please!"

"I can't do it," he says, softly, knowing his mother can't hear him through the door. "I can't..."

"You are one affirmation from everything you have ever wanted, dear! A whole new life, a whole new you!"

"I don't _want_ a whole new me!" He thinks about days at the museum, drinking at the bar with Stevie and Twyla, the way Patrick makes him feel lit up from the inside, and he realizes, "I like myself the way I am!"

The air crackles, and David feels the hair on his arms stand on end, the scent of ozone thick.

He hears a loud whoosh and a crash, like thunder, and then everything goes dark.

🐽🐽🐽

"David?"

He opens his eyes to see Alexis' gaze on him.

"Oh my god, _finally_ ," she says, exasperated, but she throws her arms around him anyway.

He's in his bed, no longer in his slim-fitting Tom Ford suit, but in his favorite soft joggers and an oversized t-shirt.

"What..."

She pulls back, and with a watery smile, she opens the selfie camera on her phone and holds it up to his face.

He gasps.

His _nose_...

It's so _normal_. Strong, with a small bump at the bridge, but normal. It suits him, he thinks.

 _One of his own kind_...

All he had to do was accept himself?

 _Fuck_ this, he's spent his _entire life_ feeling inferior because of this.

 _Not your entire life_ , he thinks. _There were a few moments there where you felt cherished._

He tamps down that thought.

"David... I'm so sorry."

"What? Why?"

"I could've... if I'd just _accepted_ you—"

"You couldn't have known."

"Still, I should've—"

"Alexis, stop. It's not your fault."

She swallows and nods, before reaching out to boop him on his nose. _His_ nose. Not his pig of a great-great-great-great grandfather's nose.

"Hey. I love you."

"I love you, too."

She cocks her head. "It's still so weird to see."

"'Still?!' How long was I out?"

She shrugs. "Two days."

"Two _days?!_ "

"Ugh, David! Chill!"

"You expect me to _chill_?!"

"Okay, this may not be the _best_ time, but—"

"Da-vid!" he hears his mother wail as she enters, his father trailing behind her.

 _Later_ , Alexis mouths, sending one of her signature two-eyed winks his way, before slipping out and leaving him to fend for himself with their emotional parents.

🐽🐽🐽

"Hey."

"Wha...?" He glances at the clock. "Alexis, it's 2am, go back to sleep."

"No. Get up."

"Why?"

"I have to talk to you, and this is like, the _only_ time Mom is Ambien'ed hard enough to not interrupt, so come _on_ , David!"

She pulls him out of bed and down to the kitchen, grabbing them both a slice of leftover cake.

It's a too-sweet lemon cake, Sebastien's pick, and slightly stale around the edges from his two-day nap. But he eats it anyway, because it's cake.

"This better be important," he grumbles.

"It is," she says, taking a bite of cake.

"Well?!" he prompts.

"What about Patrick?"

"You _dragged_ me out of bed for this?"

She juts out her chin and widens her eyes at him in annoyance. "Ugh! David, Mom is like, never going to give us a chance to talk about this now."

He nods. She's right.

"So?" she presses.

"So _what_?"

"So what are you going to do about Patrick, David!"

He shrugs. "I'm going to let him move on with his life. This has all been _way_ too dramatic."

"Okay, but like, he loves you. He doesn't _want_ to move on."

He swallows around the mouthful of cloying buttercream. "You don't know that."

Alexis rolls her eyes. "Yes, I do. I saw how he looked at you. And you know it, too. Deep down."

"I don't even know where to start," he tells her, his voice cracking.

She grins. "Do you want to go to a party tomorrow?"

🐽🐽🐽

"This mask is itchy!" David complains, loudly, shifting the David Rose mask (" _complete with lifelike pig snout!_ ") around to try to keep it off his skin. "Who _designed_ this thing?"

Stevie laughs, the antennae of her bumblebee costume moving with her giggles.

"What!" he demands.

"Nothing, it's just... it's nice to see the old you."

He bites back a grin.

She glances around at all the David Rose masks, some of which match his exactly. "Jesus, you're everywhere."

"I can't believe Patrick _lives_ here," Alexis says from his other side, barely suppressing a shudder as she glances around the space. It's above the Wilhern, where Patrick apparently works, the stairwell doors (and a few apartment doors, too) propped open to allow the bar's annual Halloween party to flow through the entire building. Alexis moves cautiously around people, refusing to touch them, stretching lithely and avoiding contact. It works, with her cat mask and black minidress.

"I think it's nice!" Twyla offers, appearing on Stevie's right, dropping a kiss to her cheek and taking her hand. Her face is painted to match her butterfly costume, and her lips leave a few flecks of blue glitter on Stevie's face.

David raises an eyebrow at her.

"What," Stevie asks. "You were busy."

"Not too busy to hear about this!" he exclaims, gesturing at their joined hands.

"I brought Twyla to the 'engagement' party," she says, her distaste palpable. "You're the one who canceled it last minute."

Which, okay, fair.

They make their way through the building to apartment B13.

David freezes ten steps away.

"I can't do this," he whispers, his voice overpowered by the music in the hallway.

"Ugh, come _on_ David, I didn't put on this horrible costume for you to _not_ get the guy, okay?"

"It's _barely_ a costume, Alexis. You've had that dress since 2012."

She gasps. "I would _never_ wear a dress from 2012. You _know_ I have a two-year limit!"

"Mm, maybe we should go google this collection then, maybe back at home, away from th—"

Alexis and Stevie pull him forward. They're stronger than they look.

They don't even give him a second to calm his racing heart before Stevie bangs on the door.

A moment later, Patrick is in front of him, the multicolored lights from the party dancing beautifully across his pale face.

He's _enchanting_ and David _loves him_.

"Patrick, hey, I hoped you still lived here."

"Stevie, Twyla," he greets. His gaze sweeps over Alexis and David, his expression momentarily turning sad when his eyes flit across David's mask. "Who are your friends?"

She waves him off. "He's gotta pee, can he use your bathroom?"

Patrick's eyes seem to bore into his through his mask. It reminds David of all the times he felt Patrick's eyes peering straight through the mirror to _see_ him.

"Sure."

"Great." Stevie turns to David, her eyes wide. "See ya!"

By the time he steps inside, Stevie, Alexis, and Twyla are down the hall.

Patrick lets out a small laugh. "Come on, bathroom's just through there," he says, gesturing toward the back of the apartment.

David does pee, because he may have had a glass of wine downstairs to calm the nerves. And as he washes his hands, he looks at his reflection in the mirror. It actually _is_ kind of nice to see the old him.

He just hopes Patrick agrees.

"It's a good party," he says as he exits the room. Patrick's eyes fly to him, wide with surprise. "Why aren't you downstairs?"

"I, uh, I gotta pack."

"Are you moving?"

"Got a gig out of town. Felt like getting out of the city for a while."

"Well that's good, good for you," he says as he gingerly steps through the space, making his way back toward Patrick slowly. "I had a friend once who—"

"Take off the mask," Patrick demands.

"What?" David asks, freezing in place.

Patrick looks at him searchingly for a second before shaking his head. "Sorry, I just... All night I've been running into... someone I used to know."

"This person, he... meant a lot to you?"

Patrick smiles, sadly. "He meant everything."

David feels those words like a fist to his chest. "What happened?"

"I couldn't give him what he wanted," Patrick says with a shrug.

"What did he want?"

Patrick hesitates for a second before answering. "To be free."

David is about to ask something else when he spots the keyboard in the corner. "So you _do_ play the piano," he says with a smirk.

It was all he needed to say before Patrick strides toward him, confident and sure, his mouth on his immediately, kissing him breathless. Their lips move against each other in an easy dance, a tide ebbing and flowing as they both give and give and give and take and take and take.

"David," he mumbles into his mouth before pulling away. "I'm sorry, David, I—"

"I know—"

"No, I-I told you I'd respect your choice and I—"

"Patrick, it's fine—"

He shakes his head. "No, no, Sebastien can break the curse, David, and you deserve—"

"It's okay, Patrick," he says, pulling the mask off. "Turns out I could do it myself." Patrick takes a step back in surprise, but leaves his hand on David's cheek. "It's me, Patrick," he says with a grin. "I'm still me."

Patrick is back on him then, kissing him with everything he has.

David kisses him back, and keeps kissing him, until he feels like he's going to explode if he doesn't get his hands on him.

"Patrick," he whispers. "Can we—"

"Anything. Yes, yeah, anything, _please_ , David..."

David pulls away, admiring Patrick's kiss-swollen lips for a moment, before leading him toward the bedroom.

They undress each other silently, admiring each bit of skin they reveal as they go.

It happens when David sits on the edge of the bed, pulling Patrick to stand between his legs, intending to get his mouth on him.

Instead, Patrick gently cards his fingers through his hair, and cradles David's face with more care than he could ever imagine to wish for. "I love you, David," he whispers.

He already knows it to be true. But it feels different, here. Like a 'once upon a time' instead of a 'happily ever after.' Like the start of a story. Of _their_ story.

"I love you, too," he responds, as easily as anything.

Patrick leans down and kisses him then, gentle and sure, full of months of longing and love, and David knows that he will never feel anything else like this.

So he savors it. He savors how Patrick feels in his hand and in his mouth, how he tastes and how he looks when he finally comes apart. How he keeps his eyes locked on David's as he catches his breath after, before enthusiastically returning the favor.

And after, as they lay in bed side-by-side, Patrick's eyes trace his face as he confesses, "Is it weird that I kind of miss it?"

"What?"

He shrugs. "I fell in love with that face. But this one isn't so bad," he says, teasingly, before running the tip of his index finger down the bridge of David's decidedly average-looking nose. "You were always beautiful, David."

He can do nothing else but kiss him until Stevie pounds on the door and demands they rejoin the party.

🐽🐽🐽

"Welcome to Rose Apothecary, how may I help you?"

"Hi, yeah, I'm looking for, um, something to help with curses?"

Patrick's eyes snap over, meeting his husband's gaze over the facial care table.

"Curses?" Patrick asks.

"Yeah, I've had a string of bad luck and I think my ex may have cursed me."

"Mm, yeah, I'm familiar with the concept. I recommend a cleansing bath with our sea salt bath bomb, followed by our rosemary-scented body milk. Rosemary is great for protection."

Patrick smirks, watching his husband work.

When the customer leaves, he wraps his arms around David's waist and drops a kiss to his favorite spot, just under his ear.

"Don't tell me you believe in curses," he jokes.

"I mean, no, but I'd love a true love's kiss, just to be safe."

Patrick grins and complies, almost as if he's compelled by a love spell.

Though he supposes he's been under David's spell since before he ever even saw his face.

**THE END.**

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to chat with me on [tumblr](https://danverses.tumblr.com)!


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